


Atropa

by shiny_silver_grl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-27 18:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20953217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiny_silver_grl/pseuds/shiny_silver_grl
Summary: A what-if scenario wherein Carol decides she shouldn't have left Alexandria, returning to her shaken and grief-stricken family to find out about Daryl's abduction after the murders of Glenn and Abraham.   Carol does what needs doing.Mostly Daryl and Carol's thoughts / perspectives / introspection.





	1. Chapter 1

  
* * *

The first clue that something had changed was the sandwich.

  
It sure as hell wasn't the goddamn song they played over and over. It wasn't a fresh pair of sweats or a trip to the shower or any other basic human need being fulfilled.

It was hard to keep track of how long he'd been in this cell. As near as he could tell, it had to have been a couple of weeks since he'd been taken. Since that horrific night in the woods. He only managed sleep in fits and starts which was, of course, deliberate. Daryl knew what they were doing. Psychological warfare, trying to break him down. Remove all of the basic essentials - food, clothes, safety, sleep, the freedom to leave. Lock him in a cell like an animal. Feed him dog food. It was all to dehumanize him. Wear him down so that he'd become weak and malleable. And he wasn't there yet, not by a long shot, but he couldn't say it wasn't getting to him. Even knowing what they were doing, he'd still been unable to keep from crying when that sadistic fuck Dwight had delivered the Polaroid of Glenn's bloodied, headless corpse.

  
There had been a lot of low points in the past few years. Hell, his whole life, really. His mother's death by fire, several of the more memorable thrashings from his father. Having to put his own brother down. Watching a dead little girl stumbling from a dark barn into bright sunlight, killing all of their hopes. Thinking for days that he'd lost the girl's mother, the first person who'd ever looked at him and saw someone of worth. Losing the prison, their first stable home. Losing Beth in such a tragic, senseless way. The endless days of starvation and thirst on the road before Aaron found them and brought them to Alexandria.

  
But he couldn't say he'd ever been as low as this, before. Witnessing Abraham's and Glenn's murders... The guilt he felt over Glenn's death alone was devastating. He'd known the man since the beginning. Since the rock quarry outside of Atlanta. Before Rick, even. And after a rocky start, they had over time become friends. The kid was reliable. Brave, quick and smart. And he'd been the best of them. Out of all of the people Daryl now counted among his family, Glenn had been the most decent. Never did nothing wrong to nobody. Had never even had to kill a person until the satellite outpost. And these fuckers had snuffed out that life. The life of a good man. And it was on them...but it was also on him. Negan had said what would happen if any of them acted up. He'd warned them. But in that moment of loss and rage after watching Negan murder Abraham, Daryl couldn't handle Negan threatening Rosita with that damn wire-wrapped bat. It had been dripping with blood and brains and Rosita's normally fierce face wore an expression Daryl had never seen on it before. Gut wrenching loss and fear. And the bastard had been shaking it in her face with glee, tormenting her.

  
Daryl would never forgive himself for getting up and throwing that punch. Not ever. Because while Negan had swung the bat, Daryl had set that particular murder in motion. He would never forget Glenn's face, the realization that he was done. It was over. His story ended here, and he'd known it. The damage that had already been done to him on that first swing was apparent when he spoke.

  
_"Maggie, I'll find you."_

  
Daryl knew it would haunt him forever, as he was sure it would haunt Maggie.

In a way, his crushing guilt aided him now. It helped him to accept the many injuries and indignities that the Saviors pressed upon him. He felt, on some level, that he deserved this treatment. He deserved to be punished. It helped him to accept the unacceptable. Helped him to survive in this cell without losing his mind, if he viewed it as retribution for what he'd done. Helped him to keep his eyes down and mouth shut on the rare occasions he was released from the ever-present darkness of the cell. Helped him to choke down the fucking dog food sandwich Dwight served him daily.

He was hungry enough that he had to eat it. They kept him on the point of starvation and dehydration as it was. If there was any hope of ever getting out of here, he knew he'd need as much strength as he could muster. So he choked that shit down and tried to hold on to his sanity. He had to be ready to seize any opportunity. He had to watch for any change.

  
And then, one day, something changed.

  
The music cut off, and a few moments later Dwight opened the door, as usual. Aside from when they let him out to perform menial labor, most days Dwight was the only person he saw. The greasy fuck looked like Matthew McConaughey, if Matthew McConaughey had dropped twenty five pounds and stumbled into a blowtorch while high on meth after not washing his hair for two weeks.

  
In the beginning, Daryl had been unable to contain his rage and resentment. He had tried to help this asshole. He'd been prepared to invite him and his family back to Alexandria. And that had come back to bite him in the ass big time. Now Dwight seemed to be making it his personal mission to grind Daryl down to nothing. He'd killed Denise right in front of him. He'd stolen his bike, delighted in wearing his vest. Taunted him with the photo of Glenn's remains. Daryl swore that when he got out of here, he was going to beat the man to death with his own fists.

  
For now, though, he had to bide his time. And for his cooperation, he'd graduated from having the dog food sandwich thrown at him or tossed on the floor to Dwight handing it to him, as he did now.

  
Daryl snatched it from him but just held it, waiting for the other man to leave. Dwight leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms. "Got a new cook," he shared. "I think she fits in around here real nice. Got a hell of a sense of humor. She put a piece of lettuce on your shit sandwich for you."

  
Dwight chuckled and clicked his tongue when he received no response from Daryl. "Well," he drawled, "I'll leave you to it. Enjoy your meal, 'cause it's all you're gettin' until you get on board, you hear?"

  
Clearly expecting no response - correctly so - Dwight turned and shut the door. Daryl heard the lock click and, like clockwork, the music resumed a minute later.

_We're on easy street_  
_And it feels so sweet_  
_'Cause the world is 'bout a treat_  
_When you're on easy street_

For a moment, Daryl was fiercely glad that the outbreak had resulted in the deaths of most of the people on the planet, if only for the knowledge that the fuckers who made this goddamn song were probably long dead.

  
Daryl tried to tune it out. Let it become some unacknowledged part of the scenery while he stayed in his own mind, removed as far as possible from the situation.  
Only that was impossible a moment later when he took a bite of the sandwich. It was...different.

  
It was never different.

  
It was never different, it was always dog food. Pedigree or some shit. Same disgusting taste, day in, day out. But this was...real food. It tasted like real food.

  
In the darkness, Daryl peeled off the top piece of bread and blindly felt around. It felt the same...a mashed-up lump of cold meat product. But when he brought it up to his nose, he could discern the difference. It smelled like fucking meatloaf.

  
He pinched a large piece off in his fingers and popped it in his mouth, chewed slowly for a moment.

  
The shocked realization sent him to his feet a moment later, unable to do anything else with the bust of adrenaline. He knew this taste. It was meatloaf, albeit a version that used venison instead of beef. He'd had it a dozen times in the past months. At Alexandria. At home.

  
This was meatloaf that had been mixed up and squashed until it looked like the dog food that Dwight normally served him.

  
They'd gotten a new cook, Dwight had said, and Daryl was suddenly terrified that he knew exactly who it was.

_And we're breaking out the good champagne_  
_We're sitting pretty on the gravy train_  
_And when we sing every sweet refrain repeats_  
_Right here on easy street_

* * * 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Daryl wasn't sure how long he stood stock-still in the cell, mind racing, waiting for something to happen.

He had to be wrong. He had to be. There was no way that Rick would have allowed this. Risking their people's lives, especially when Negan had his boot on Alexandria's neck? Unless something really major had changed on the outside, Daryl just couldn't see it.

But some team effort to rescue Daryl was a far preferable option to the other possibility. He couldn't even entertain the thought that she might be at the Sanctuary alone. How the hell would she have even gotten here? And why?

No. He had to be wrong. Meatloaf was meatloaf, and beef was in scarce supply in this world. Probably everyone made a venison meatloaf like this, these days. Maybe the new cook had just taken pity on the prisoner.

_And was willing to risk their life over the deception being found out?_ he wondered. Who would have the motive to do that, if not _her?_

Suddenly Daryl was seized by the irrational fear that someone would find out he hadn't been fed dog food after all. He imagined Dwight opening the door and scrutinizing the sandwich in the light, then going to find their "new cook" to dole out some horrific punishment.

Daryl ravenously bolted the meatloaf, scraping it off the bread like the filling of an oreo and swallowing it down before it could be discovered as evidence. The slices of bread followed immediately after.

Nothing happened.

After long, immeasurable minutes of nothing happening, Daryl slowly sank back to the floor, his heart still pounding.

* * *

Morning (?) brought with it another visit from Dwight, who bore another cleverly disguised meatloaf sandwich. Daryl barely even registered anything Dwight said, or the music which began playing again moments after the man left his cell. His mind was reaching for an explanation. Trying to figure out what was going on.

The song had only cycled through twice more before something else changed. A shadow stopped on the other side of the cell door, and Daryl's gaze narrowed on it immediately. The shape distorted briefly, as the person on the other side of the door bent or crouched down...

...and a cookie slid underneath the door.

The shadow quickly straightened and departed, leaving an unbroken white line at the bottom of the door.

A cookie.

It was a message.

Daryl snatched the cookie up and crammed it into his mouth quickly, wary again of being caught with evidence that someone was trying to help him. He tasted the familiar sweetness of one of her recipes - some crazy shit with acorns and beets that somehow still tasted good - but he hadn't needed it to know his suspicions were confirmed.

Cookie Carol. It was the half-joking nickname that Carl had given Carol somewhere between their assimilation into Alexandria and the attack of the Wolves.

Over the course of the past few years, Carol had evolved into one of the most useful members of the group. She had become a strong and capable fighter, but her biggest asset was her mind. She fought smart. She used peoples' perceptions and expectations of her against them. She was crafty, planned ahead and thought quickly.

Strategy was her game, and none of them had realized how good at it she was until they'd been asked to surrender their weapons at Alexandria. Carol had, naturally and without consulting the rest of the group, fallen into the harmless den mother routine, fumbling with the strap of her gun as she tried to get it over her head. She'd looked painfully awkward and unremarkably genuine. Carol had worked to perpetuate the image she crafted, dressing like a gently-aging suburban mother, baking casseroles and cookies for her neighbors. It was a great way to keep an eye out for trouble, and retain an advantage over the Alexandrians...just in case they needed it.

In fact, going undercover was sort of Carol's thing. She'd smeared herself with Walker guts to blend in with the undead in order to take out those holding the group captive at Terminus. She'd donned the hooded cloak and bandana of one of the Wolves in order to kill his fellows before they realized that a very cunning and capable sheep was hiding in wolf's clothing.

Carol was here.

Carol was here, and she was pretending to be working for the Saviors.

But was she alone? What was the plan?

There was precious little Daryl could do to help, he knew. At least while he was locked in here. But he'd be ready. He'd be watchful when he was let out. She would find some way to signal him, just as she had now.

For the first time in weeks, Daryl felt a sliver of hope stabbing its way up through the despair and mixing with the worry.

Carol was here. And these fuckers were in for a surprise.

* * *

Carol quickened her pace as she moved down the hallway away from the door to Daryl's cell. Her healing gunshot wounds protested the movement, but it would not do to be caught lingering here. It had been hard to make herself leave, knowing he was just on the other side of the door and surely in bad shape from his mistreatment. But the last thing either of them needed right now was for her to arouse suspicion.

It had been risky enough following Dwight after he'd collected Daryl's sandwich, but she'd needed to find out where they were keeping him. The cookie was just to let Daryl know that she was here and working on a way out. That hope, plus food that wasn't actively making him sick, would hopefully help improve what was undoubtedly his bleak mindset.

She could only imagine his state of mind right now. After Morgan had badgered her into seeing reason and they had returned to Alexandria, Carol had been grieved to learn of the fate of Abraham and Glenn.

_Glenn! No, please..._

The scene Michonne had described to her was horrific. And along with her grief and horror came guilt. Had there been anything she might've done to avert this catastrophe if she hadn't left? If she'd still been with her friends when Negan came for them, could she have somehow altered any of the events? She would never know. She had allowed her existential angst to drive her to leave her family when they needed her. She could only feel hollow at the loss. But she was resolved not to lose anyone else. She may lose herself, but she'd be damned if these people hurt anyone else in her family.

When they'd told her about Daryl, how he'd been shot and kept in a cage in the back of a truck like an animal, she'd felt utter despair. _Not Daryl..._

They told her that he'd punched Negan, then been subdued and had to watch while Glenn was beaten to death in retaliation. Then they'd taken him. Carol knew how much he hated to be penned in. She'd seen the wary look in his eyes before when backed into a corner and facing captivity. It broke her heart. Because of all people, Daryl was the most afraid of being kept helpless. He was like Lawrence's wild thing, a creature of nature and never meant to be caged.

Carol's heart ached over it, and for what Daryl must be feeling now. And poor Maggie.

These people needed to be stopped. This needed to end. And though she may hate herself later for what she was about to do, Carol always did what needed to be done.

What needed to be done in this case just happened to be mass murder.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and your kind words as I get back in the saddle, lol.

**Author's Note:**

> I had ankle surgery a couple of months ago, and while on recovery at home I binge-watched a couple of shows I'd never seen before, such as The Walking Dead. I quickly became a quiet Carol / Daryl shipper, and while I haven't written fanfic in many years, I was inspired to write this little piece. 
> 
> I started working my way through the huge amount of fic already out there, and I had completed the first two and a half chapters of this story when I stumbled across "Nothing Else Matters" (which is excellent and I highly recommend it) by Geektaire here at Archive. It contains elements that are very similar to the concept of *this* fic, but I believe there are plenty of substantial differences that will help keep them separate. Not the least of which is that Geektaire's story is a good, long read. :) Nice, fleshed-out characters with a lot of thought given to the writing. This is simply going to be a 3-5 chapter one-shot.


End file.
